Last Wishes
by Ankaris123
Summary: Semi-steampunk AU. After his father was lost at sea and proven deceased, Alfred Jones comes into full inheritance of his family fortune, debts, overseas business, and a twin brother.
1. Inheritance

Title: Last Wishes

Authoress: Ankaris123

Disclaimer: APHetalia is property of Hidekaz Himaruya.

Summary: Semi-Steampunk **AU**. After his father was lost at sea and proven deceased, Alfred Jones comes into full inheritance of his family fortune, debts, overseas business, and a twin brother.

_Note_: The setting is semi-steampunk but the fic will probably not be technology heavy. It's mostly because I don't want to have to fiddle with a complete fantasy world and have oil lamps and things like that so I cheat and have 'unexplained easy tech'. It's roughly set in a Victorian-esque era though.

_A/Ns_: It was bothering me so I wrote it. Someone strangle me if this turns into a sad sap-fest. Do it. Please.

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Prologue – Inheritance

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Alfred Jones rose reluctantly from the comfy armchair where he had fallen asleep by the unlit fireplace, clutching at his aching head. An empty bottle fell from his hand and rolled across the expensive Persian carpet, hitting a couple others of different shape with a clink.

The extensive hallway echoed with his footsteps as he drifted through like a sluggish ghost to the front entrance. The double doors were made from a sturdy polished mahogany, flanked by two wilting potted plants that had not seen water for days. Fiddling with the unfamiliar locks (usually the butler took care of it and whenever he snuck out on his own it was by the window or the servant's exit), he managed to unlock them and pulled one door open.

Three men stood on the front step. Two were unfamiliar but the third brought the relief of familiarity the likes of which he hasn't seen for the last few days.

"Roderich! You're back from your visit? Boy, am I glad to see you. Have you heard-?"

"Yes, young master, I have. My greatest condolences," the Austrian bowed his head solemnly; he was dressed from head to toe in black. "I boarded the earliest train I could catch the moment I heard the news-have you been drinking?"

"_Was_, I _was_ drinking. Never mind that. Do you know who these guys are?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the two unknowns, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The shorter of the two blond men blanched at his informal gesture.

"Arthur Kirkland, Attorney-at-Law," the man said curtly with a distinct British accent, shaking Alfred's hand with the firm grip. "I have come to speak in regards of the will left by-"

"Look, man. I'm done with all that stuff. The lawyer guys came over two days ago and went over it already, blah, blah, estates, blah, business, blah, legal issues, blah, so you're too late to grab your share, okay?"

Arthur sputtered at his insinuations; his face grew an unhealthy red. The other blond man chuckled at his companion's reaction behind a raised hand.

"No, young man, you listen here. The will in question was left by your deceased mother Madeleine Jones. More importantly though in relations with your father's will-"

"Mom's will? But…she's been dead for years!"

Five years into an arranged marriage, his mother passed away shortly after giving birth to him. In the nineteen years of his life, he had never once heard about a will left by her.

"-I have a copy of it here-" The paper was snatched from his fingers barely a moment after he had pulled it out from his satchel. Alfred's blue eyes immediately zoned in on the end of the document for the signature.

_Madeleine Lisette Jones née Williams_—

A shuddering breath escaped him. The swirling, graceful cursive was identical to the script inside the small leather-bound diary he had found in the vanity desk drawer that one night many years ago. He remembered how he laid there, a curious little boy, on the silk sheets of the canopy bed that although out of use was well-kept and tended to, thumbing through the aging pages and committing the writing style to memory. He wasn't able to read it as it was written in French (he wasn't a very good student in the language admittedly, his tutor Roderich could attest to that) but he treasured the little book all the same.

It was the real deal.

He tried to read the contents of the will but was saddened to see that it too was written in his mother's native language. Gingerly he returned the paper to Arthur who accepted it stony-faced and respectful of his silence.

"So, um, what's it say?"

"We will be getting to that later," Arthur said, fixing his black silk tie absentmindedly. "There is a more pressing issue at hand. I believe Mr. Edelstein will shed some light on it for us."

"Roderich…?" He looked to his tutor inquiringly.

"Perhaps it will be better if I showed you, young master. If we may head inside, please." Roderich smiled grimly, nodding to the other two. They filed into the foyer, wiping down their shoes on the rug.

"And what are you here for?"

The second blond man looked away from his cool observation of the mansion's interior and, smiling, offering his hand.

"Francis Bonnefoy. I am what you might call a specialist. All will be clear soon." Alfred withdrew his hand sharply when he realized the Frenchman was going to kiss it, eliciting another bell-like chuckle from the man.

They wound their way through the large mansion to the servants' quarters where Roderich picked up a peculiar shaped key from a locked compartment in his writing desk. From there they set off to the library.

Although Alfred had never seen his father read a book, the library was spacious (he estimated it to be roughly the same size as a small ballroom) and far from being in short supply of reading material. It was packed from floor to ceiling with volumes of moulding old tomes with numerous bookcases that created a sort of miniature labyrinth, a scholar's envy it might if one had known. The fact was that the library's more frequent visitor was probably Roderich himself, given explicit permission to use the library's resources for private endeavours (of which Alfred knew not) and not one for reading himself, Alfred rarely placed even a foot into the threshold.

Now that they were here however, he was curious, pushing aside the dreary week he had. What could it be that his tutor wanted to show them?

Winding a path through the maze of shelves and past several unstable-looking ladders on wheels, they came to a stop halfway to a dead end. The dust here was almost suffocating and all members of the party took care not to disturb anything. Roderich pulled out a thick almanac several decades out of date from a series on one of the shelves and wedged the hand holding the key inside.

There was a barely audible click and after the book was replaced (the dusty grime on the spine miraculously, or perhaps not, perfectly preserved despite being touched), the shelves swung inwards about the size of an average door, opening to a dark and dank passageway.

"Wow," was all he could say. This was getting a little too contemporary fairy tale for his tastes, but it stirred the old desire for fantastic adventures he had as a child.

Roderich led the way through the dark and the rest followed after, guiding by the echoing clack of thick soles on stone. They almost ran into him when the Austrian stopped unseen. A sliver of golden light was leaking out from the ill-fitting fitting door, helping them gain partial night vision.

"I would advise that you be especially...careful. No sudden movements or loud noises as it can be...upsetting." The peculiar key was turned around and inserted into an invisible lock.

The room beyond it was styled similar to the general theme of the mansion with its striped wallpaper, matching carpet, fancy glass light fixtures, and a rich throw rug. The only difference was its smaller size; the extra book shelves, storage compartments and meticulously organized file holders gave an overall sense of crampedness. The only illumination in the room was from the far corner of the room, emitting from a portable electric lamp sitting on a work desk.

A figure was seated there, bent over an enormous book; a thin finger tracing the spidery print. Arthur bumped into a box of files with his elbow, sending it crashing to the floor. The figure looked up startled; facing them now, he looked reasonably masculine and faintly familiar.

"Oh, Roderich. You've returned early. I-," his voice was quiet and gentle, cutting off when he sighted the newcomers. Hiding behind the Austrian, his soft "Who...?" was almost unheard.

"Do not be alarmed. They will not harm you," Roderich muttered, patting the boy's hand.

"What...what is going on?" Alfred asked. "Who is this? Why is...he in here?"

France answered this for him, flourishing the copy of the will.

"Well, _Monsieur_ Jones, according to your mother's will, this would be your younger twin brother Matthieu, with whom you are to divide your inheritance in the event that both parents become deceased."

His head snapped towards the cowering figure.

_Brother_?

Hidden from view, he could only see wide eyes staring back at him. None of his other features were visible in the dim lighting.

_Twin_ brother?

A crisp sheet of paper crinkled as Arthur pulled another more recent document.

"And, according to your father's will,' he said, indicating the appropriate section, 'he is Matthew Williams."

"And what is the problem here?" Alfred said, not really listening. The boy (or man since he would be the same age) seemed to shrink further out of sight under his scrutiny.

He had a brother all this time?

"In all legality,' the disgruntled lawyer continued, 'Matthew Williams is property of the Jones family and therefore, with your father's death, you, Mr. Jones, own him."

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_A/Ns_: Oh boy, where am I going to go with this…

**What do you think? Thanks for reading.**


	2. A Matter of Tastes

Title: Last Wishes

Authoress: Ankaris123

Disclaimer: APHetalia is property of Hidekaz Himaruya.

_A/Ns_: LET'S FLUFF THIS UP. Or something.

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Chapter 1 – A Matter of Tastes

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Alfred never realized how many passageways were tucked into the very walls of his home. Now he knew just how the maids and servants kept out of sight while still keeping every surface immaculate. Once again, they walked following the sound of the Austrian man's clear, sharp footsteps. The hand he dragged along the cold wall brushed over a metal bracket.

According to Roderich, all passageways were brightly illuminated around the clock (before the servants were dismissed) with a conservative type of fuel lamp. Although the rest of the building was installed with the innovative light bulb fixtures, lamps were chosen for passageways for the convenience of the servants flown or shipped in from overseas who preferred to maintain the lighting themselves but were baffled by the technology. Despite the low-tech, somewhere above their heads unseen, gears of many sizes creaked and turned in the darkness. When they reached the end of the dark corridor, they spilled out into a room familiar to the blond.

Ignoring his tutor's disapproving scoff, he threw himself onto a beat up two-seater sofa, bouncing slightly on the landing. The servant's parlour was cramped with more used furniture of varying styles and states of wear than fashionably acceptable in order to accommodate the mass of people who generally took their short breaks there. It was noticeably less cluttered than usual as personal touches—photo frames, potted plants, handmade cushions and blankets—were packed up in a hurry, leaving behind lonely afterimages in the form of clean squares on the dusty mantle and off-colour circles of carpet. It wasn't really a parlour but a common room with additional kitchen appliances (even a stove and a sink) along one wall.

While Roderich shuffled over to the small counter to fetch the blackened kettle, Francis reached out and guided Matthew to sit on the sofa opposite him, taking care to establish eye contact first and moving with hesitant touches. Once seated, the two engaged in hushed conversation, mostly one-sided but for someone like Matthew already quite intimate.

Alfred frowned despondently.

Matthew, his _brother_, seemed to be especially shy towards him, even afraid. There was a strange twinge in his heart as he watched the pair interact amicably. He was most adamantly sure that he was not jealous.

"Shall we go over a brief overview on your legal matters?" Arthur said, taking a seat next to him. He opened his leather satchel with two snaps, withdrawing several papers, heavily annotated with adhesive bookmarks.

"Yeah, sure, why not."

There was a click, a sputtering motor noise and then a low whir as the coffee maker started up.

"As you know, your father, the late Franklin Gerald Jones, owned several lines of highly profitable businesses, predominantly his overseas merchant corporation, and has accumulated a large sum of money over the years. The gentlemen who visited you earlier in the week, that is, your father's solicitors, seized their chance to gain control over your family's assets and now holds a monopoly on shares for the corporation and other business contracts with projected future value. They have also taken control of the late Mr. Jones's main bank account. In the short-run, there is unfortunately nothing we can legally do to reclaim these from them," he paused here at Alfred's look of bewilderment and sighed. "Basically, those 'lawyer guys' as you so quaintly labeled them are trying to rob you blind and are almost halfway done with it."

"Those bastards!" he exclaimed, bringing his fist down on the table (which he immediately regretted as Matthew jumped from the noise like a startled wide-eyed woodland creature). "Is there nothing that can be done?"

"Well, the good news is that your father maintained several accounts, some of which are still under your possession. Of course, your mother has also left a small fortune in a trust fund of which you will have full access of by next week when the papers are reviewed and confirmed. Upon your approval, a signature will do, you can claim ownership of properties such as your family estate, the summer villa, various stocks, and, of course, ahem, your brother Matthew."

At the sound of his name, the blond boy raised his head, catching his older brother's stare and then averting his gaze once more, silent.

"What's up with that anyways? How can you own somebody? Isn't that illegal? How could...how could father stand to keep his _own_ son as property?"

"Ah, but it is not illegal, Monsieur Jones. At least, not yet over here. In the old world, we've recently passed laws, by royal proclamation, to abolish the ownership of human beings as chattels but such legislation has not yet been proposed over here in New America. It may be because of the government being young and overall quite different from ours. We suspect it is only a matter of time before the same should happen here, hopefully before certain individuals take advantage of this legal loophole," he gave the boy next to him a doleful look. "It seems however not to be the case."

New America, though not officially a country of any sort, was as its name suggested, new. The North American continent was first discovered by eager scientists travelling on a prototype aerial vessel and had since become the land of science and technological innovations. It was not so much colonized as inhabited since the band of intellects was generally considered as exiled in their era and few were eager to join them.

Bold scientific hypotheses and a few rare cases of bizarre and radical inventions (very few of which were successful in their original purpose) gave the sciences a certain image, that of which only madmen and infidels participated in. In these foreign lands, the natural minerals were exploited for their expensive projects, the natives very helpful in this aspect, eventually giving birth to astounding machines well worth their cost.

Despite this, businessmen were greatly discouraged (by the church and social circles) not to expand into North America. Inventors and scholars alike immigrated in slow trickles and quite enthusiastically promoted the heathen image, protecting their community from outside interference. A number of missionaries did attempt to convert them although with the same level of success were they back home.

During the Nineteenth Century, when technologies became more accepted by Europe and started its incline on mass implementation, North America's small settlements swelled in proportions. After much outcry at the ungoverned state of the cities and towns, the Board of High Scholars formed an informal democracy to govern the domain of North America and thus forming a quasi-nation of sorts under the name New America, the land of free thought and inspiration. Much of New America's laws were held by convention, relying on the citizens to uphold moral ethics on their own accord (far too optimist in all accounts) although many changes to the system have incurred over the years.

"As I've said before, I am a specialist, once an attorney like Arthur here, a specialist who deals with...certain old traditions," Francis said vaguely, gesturing with one hand. "Are you familiar with body doubles?"

Roderich noticeably tensed as the conversation changed directions. The teacups produced louder clinks than usual as they knocked together.

"Sure, the theatre people have them in their black and white films they use for advertisement."

"The case here is very similar, thank you," Arthur accepted the steaming cup of tea from the Austrian. "Matthew is a body double. Or, accurately speaking, _your_ political decoy."

At this, he looked to his younger sibling. Despite the fact that they were the same age (they were twins after all), Matthew was considerably smaller. Their height did not differ by much but the lack of physical activities denied him the musculature that Alfred had. His limbs were slender and his gestures gentle and his skin pale and unblemished, unexposed to sunlight, giving an overall impression of feeble nobility (to anyone who didn't know better). Even his hair was different, having a slight wave and a dark gradient, and his eyes were remarkably a shade of violet unlike his blue. (They seemed to mutually share bad eyesight as he too had spectacles.) Alfred duly noted these features and their resemblance to the oil painting of their mother hanging in the study. He definitely took after their mother and Alfred (he admitted this with mild contempt) inherited his looks mostly from their father.

At the moment he noticed that the waistcoat Matthew was wearing (as well as the loose trousers) was eerily identical to one he received on his birthday one year past. He had shoved the custom tailored garment into his closet under a box of imported ceremonial suits (neither of which he has touched since). His own had a few choice tears after a pup jumped on him in the streets though mended. The one his twin wore was completely intact. Matthew too was wearing spats over polished black boots though his were stiff with starch and perfectly white as opposed to his which were well-worn and stained from too many mud puddles.

A stranger could be fooled into thinking they were the same person but anyone upon closer inspection could point out the differences; if their posture and personality didn't already give them away.

Project Body Double was irrefutably a failure, _ha_. Alfred formed this thought almost merrily, hoping his dead father could hear it.

"But I'm not in politics."

"It's just terminology. Besides, wealthy company owners are equivalent to politicians in their own sense nowadays. Anyhow, the general purpose is for him to be your stand-in for times of uncertain dangers. Something of a human shield, if you would like."

"No, I would not like! This, this is just wrong!"

"We're glad you think that way, Monsieur Jones. It makes things much easier. Arthur and I have experience with this sort of abuse of power. It is often done with identical twins although there are cases with siblings with small age differences such as our first and most recent case. Though the circumstances are to some extent largely different as we discovered the boy early in his childhood, we would like to extend our help in rectifying this problem. What do you say?"

"I say, hell yes."

"Language, young master," Roderich chided lightly, pressing a chipped mug into his hand.

"I suppose this was your doing, Roderich?" The brunet hesitated here, and then set down the sugar bowl.

"Yes."

"Then, good job. I'd give you a raise...but I can't really right now. Uh, you know."

Roderich smiled (a rare sign) and thanked him, carrying the tarnished tea tray back to the counter.

"Very well, seeing as Matthieu seems to enjoy the French language," Francis winked conspiratorially here. Matthew reddened considerably, clutching at his teacup delicately. "I propose we have him settling in Paris. I know of excellent accommoda-"

"Wait, wait! Hold on a minute! _Paris_?! Are you separating us?" The scalding liquid sloshed over the rim of his mug. The mixture of anger and astonishment blocked out the pain in his hand.

"It is recommended. Matthieu needs time to grow away from this place. He has been raised as an imitation, of course, unsuccessfully, thanks to Mr. Edelstein's continual effort. Living in new surroundings will aid him in developing his own personality and identity."

"But-, I-, we-" Alfred looked from the Parisian to his tutor to the British attorney and finally to his brother; all of which either averted their gaze or returned it with a resolute 'don't be such a sodding arse, you're acting like a blithering fool'.

This wasn't fair. They had just been reunited and now they were just going to take him away? He won't stand for this. They were family.

He bit his lip, chewing it anxiously. He _hoped_ they were family, for all he knew his twin hated him (since he was raised as Alfred's personal scapegoat after all). Yet this might be the only chance left at having one; one he'd been denied all his life.

One he didn't know he wanted so much until now.

Taking a deep gulp of the bitter liquid, he set down the mug on the short table between them. Clasping his hands together firmly, he closed his eyes in thought.

"What do you think, Matthew?" Alfred said, finally.

The one in question twitched, eyes flitting from side to side nervously.

"M-me?"

"Yeah. This isn't something for me to decide and it concerns you as much as it does me," Alfred began slowly, coaxing the words out as they came. "If you want to go to Paris or anywhere else," his inner voice added a quiet 'away from here', "I will respect your decision."

His blue eyes bore into the dull, chafed carpet of indistinguishable colour.

"I just want you to know that...I hope you will stay. I mean, I want to try and be a brother to you. I'm not sure if I know how or if I'd be any good at it, but I-" his cheeks tinged pink in embarrassment when he caught sight of the other three's amused smirks and coughed once, "But, uh, even if you don't want to, I'll do my best to settle the legal stuff and yeah."

"That's very mature of you, young master," Roderich said, breaking the silence. "Or perhaps it is Master Jones now?"

"Ugh, don't even think of calling me that," he said, sticking his tongue out at the suggestion. That form of address reminded him way too much of his father and most of all, the oppressed tone of voice in which his tutor said it. "Just call me how you used to."

"And? What do you say?" Arthur inquired, turning to Matthew while leafing through the documents.

The deer-caught-in-headlights expression was gradually replaced with fidgety unease. The blond seemed to draw himself inwards at their attention, rubbing the thin porcelain handle of his tea cup with his thumb. His thin lips moved in speech but no sound came out.

"You will have to speak up, mon cher."

Violet eyes peered upwards, locking gazes with blue.

"…I would like to stay."

Tension Alfred was unaware of flowed out of him in an exhale; a sigh of relief.

"That's great! You'll love it here. Er, well, _technically_ you've lived here all your life, but, uh, it will be way better than before! I promise. There's a lot we can do and stuff." Alfred didn't even bother to control the outflow of speech. He also couldn't stop grinning and didn't see the point in stopping it. Snatching up his mug again, he took a swig and smacked his lips. "Mmm, coffee. Great stuff, yeah."

When he saw his twin giggle (he definitely was, even though he was trying to hide it), he felt unusually proud of himself. Everyone was smiling all around, even Roderich. He felt prouder still.

"I don't understand how you can drink that. I'd take a cuppa over coffee any day," the Brit noted casually, placing his cup back on its saucer with disciplined grace.

"Bah, tea is overrated. I've been to a tea party once and I spent more time being scolded or glared at than any actual eating. Now coffee," he said, raising his mug for emphasis. "Coffee is _the_ beverage of New America. Nothing starts you up better than a cup of Joe in the morning right before cracking out the blueprints and the straightedge."

"Yet scientists have proven to some extent that coffee can wreck havoc on your nervous system. Tea is far better at any rate, right, m'lad?"

Matthew blushed, shifting his boots against the carpet. He inclined his head slightly.

"That's only because you haven't had coffee before! Er, you haven't, have you?"

When he shook his head, indicating that he hadn't, Alfred thrust his own mug forward.

"Then it's about time you do!"

Matthew blinked at him, still holding his tea close at hand.

In hindsight, maybe he was being a little too forward.

As this thought ran through his head, his mug was taken from him with movements so soft, Alfred nearly thought it just floated away. The guy really didn't have any presence. He was definitely going to fix that.

Cupping the mug in his hands, Matthew tipped the cooling dark liquid into his mouth.

"That is unhygienic, Matthew," Roderich chided, frowning from behind the sofa.

"Aw, don't be a stickler, Roderich. A little spit don't hurt no one."

There was a disapproving snort at his use of double negatives.

"Oh, non, absolument. I am, you may say, an expert in that area," Francis interjected; his thin eyebrows bobbing up and down suggestively. Arthur reacted immediately, scolding him for lack of professionalism while red in the face at the insinuations, earning amused chuckles from the Frenchman. Striding quietly away from the escalating argument, the Austrian merely shook his head as he carried the empty kettle to the sink.

Through the wildly gesticulating arms (mostly on the Brit's side), Matthew lowered the mug, caught Alfred's gaze, and, though shy, beamed brightly.

"I like it," he said, smile still eminent.

It wasn't just Matthew, his brother, behind that smile, but also a hint of their mother, intensified by the strong resemblance his twin held of her. Warmth blossomed in his chest as he returned it with a zealous grin.

It could only be described as happiness.

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_A/Ns_: Methinks I make Alfred say 'yeah' too much. Also, awkward alternate history. Let's pretend it works.

**Thanks for reading! And many thanks to the people who expressed interest in this fic. Until next time!**


	3. Boardless Board Game

Title: Last Wishes

Authoress: Ankaris123

Disclaimer: APHetalia is property of Hidekaz Himaruya.

_A/Ns_: Sorry about the dialogue congestion, my brain isn't really working with descriptive passages after I left this for a couple days. Exams are eating me hardcore.

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Chapter 2 – Boardless Board Games

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An irrepressible energy possessed Alfred like the devil that night as he laid restlessly in bed, waiting for the morning light. It was reminiscent of how his uncle behaved when his aunt was pregnant with Peter. Alfred had been young at the time but he never forgot the excitement and giddy anticipation when the midwife allowed them entrance and his uncle cradled his son in his arms for the first time, cheeks wet with liquid happiness.

All evening his mind was filled with buzzing ideas of what to do, where to go, what to do next, brotherly exploits and whatnot. He imagined the two of them, scouring the mansion's every room and the new found passageways. He imagined them in the gardens, himself teaching his brother football on the freshly mown lawn. He imagined them gamboling down the cobblestone streets, buying sweets off the road vendors, greeting the wives out for grocery shopping genially as they whispered amongst themselves: "My, there goes the Jones twins again. What a pair, it's a wonder how they are so close to each other."

Eventually, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier, until he fell into a restful slumber, the likes of which he hadn't seen in the last few days.

Rising early the next morning, Alfred stumbled through his morning routine but was evidently too hasty and lacking focus as Roderich sent him back to his rooms to change into a proper shirt and to retrieve his shoes. When he returned to the servant's parlour, the scent of cooking batter filled the small room and enticed a growl from his empty stomach.

"Good morning, young master Alfred, what would you like for breakfast today?"

"What do you have on the hot plate there?" he asked, flopping on a sofa. Peering around, he felt just a little dejected to find no one else was there. Folding his arms behind his head, he leaned back into the cushioning with a sigh.

"Pancakes. For Matthew. He enjoys them very much so," Roderich said, divvying the pan's contents onto a bone china plate.

"I'll have some too then." He made himself a mental note about the pancakes.

"All for the better, young master. There is little else I can make and the chef has left us it seems."

After the arrival of news on his father's accident, the mansion's large working force (the chef included) hastily tidied up their possessions and left after prompting a stunned Alfred for proper dismissal. A few loyal servants lingered for the next day or so before asking for the same. He dimly recalled them poking their heads into the study where he sat by the dying hearth, his father's whiskey collection strewn around him. For the next few days, only the butler and his daughter (a mere laundry maid) remained, forcing morsels of food into him to dilute the alcohol. When the band of lawyers arrived and proposed their legal entitlement on him, he sat through the terminology-heavy discussion and waved them off in an irresolute manner.

Once they vacated the vicinities, the butler came before him and asked for resignation, leaving with his daughter the next morning. From then on, Alfred haunted the Jones mansion, flitting about in the evening as a shadow for the kitchens and the dwindling food supply and spending the daylight hours moping in the study. He had stopped drinking at that point, the appeal of alcohol diminished with the anguish brought by the hangover next day and instead he apt for carrying one of the empty bottles with him, swinging it once in a while to remember that he still had motor skills.

That time seemed like ages ago though it had only ended the day before and he was happier than he had been in years. The light was indeed much sweeter after a period of darkness.

The parlour door opened with a creak, Alfred looked up expectantly then settled back down as Francis and Arthur filed in. They had planned to rent an apartment ("Just point us to the nearest building with a flat for lease and we'll be on our way") as their temporary headquarters while they sifted through the legal mess. Upon great insistence, Alfred managed to have them agree to stay, seeing as his home was more than spacious enough to house them and any inflow of documents and such they required shipped over from their offices.

"Ah, good morning, Monsieur Jones. Il fait beau aujourd'hui! You certainly look well rested." The blatant sarcasm had an undertone of playfulness. "Is Matthieu still in bed?"

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For the umpteenth time, Matthew straightened his cuffs and the collar of his shirt. He leaned close to the bathroom mirror to inspect his face and teeth, so close the reflective surface quickly fogged up. Plucking his spectacles off again, he polished the shining lens a third time.

Perhaps he should have worn his better shirt. Come to think of it, his brown trousers looked a little grubby too, and he was sure there was pair of smart-looking dark pinstriped trousers in the storage chests somewhere. And maybe-

He sighed deeply, replacing the fine toothed comb on the shelf. He knew he was being silly and stalling for time. A lot had happened yesterday and he wasn't sure he was ready to face it yet.

It had started out as a normal day. Without Roderich calling in on him in the early hours of seven or eight, Matthew easily overslept until a quarter to noon. Finishing with his morning business and dressing appropriately (a habit drilled into him despite the fact he never had company outside of the usual), the quiet blond then proceeded to account for inventory (to make sure he had an adequate supply of rations until his caretaker's return). After a light brunch, several volumes of interest were pulled off the shelves and stacked carefully next to the work desk. There Matthew spent most of his afternoon and early evening, marking up his notebook, thumbing through the aging tomes with scholarly enthusiasm all the while keeping his hunger at bay by nibbling on dried fruit pieces.

Occasionally he would rise from his seat to stretch, an action followed by him seeking out a certain stretch of wall in the cramped quarters. Unbeknownst to Roderich, it was possible to hear through this wall (and in fact a few others as well) to the servant's passages if one were to listen carefully enough. The noise scared him and still did, yet there was a certain thrill being the unseen onlooker and he continued to do this, comfortable knowing they would never know of him or of what he was doing.

So as usual, Matthew pressed his ear against the crinkling wallpaper and closed his eyes in concentration. There was something strange about the house recently. It was difficult to judge from the distant muffled sounds however one thing was clear as day; there was less activity than usual.

That day when he listened through the wall, no matter how hard he focused on his sharp hearing, there was nothing. The silence had started a couple of days ago for reasons he was unprepared to investigate. This frightened him even more than hearing the noise. The mansion had never sounded so, in one word, _dead_. These moments grew briefer as he threw himself more into his reading to drown out the bad feelings, wishing dearly that Roderich would return soon.

When he did return, he had not expected the other visitors.

He had not expected his twin brother.

Seeing Alfred, a strong sense of déjà vu washed over him perhaps because of their astonishing similarity. It was akin to looking in the bathroom mirror only distorted and a touch surreal. Matthew had been raised knowing this was the man he was to replace should the circumstances demand it however he had never felt animosity towards him. The reserved life he had suit him and despite being a replacement, Roderich never explicitly instructed him on impersonating Alfred's behaviours nor had he brought up his role in life in private. The character Alfred had represented had slowly but steadily changed into a fairy tale-like role, a person who didn't truly exist except when called to immediate attention.

Just seeing how the older blond moved and reacted told Matthew that he would have made a poor scapegoat. The firm look Alfred gave him unnerved him. It was so confident (though confused at the development) and reminded him too much of his faint recollections of his, _their_, father. He wanted to look away, fearful that he would find the inevitable disappointment in those blue eyes, but curiosity captivated him and held his gaze.

As the evening passed, Matthew was continually surprised by how different Alfred was from their father. The way they spoke, their attitudes towards certain topics, but most of all, how his brother readily gave him a choice with no strings attached and how he smiled often, honestly and openly.

Matthew knew he made the right choice when he agreed to stay and he didn't regret it no matter how nice and accommodating Mister Bonnefoy was about moving to Paris. The relief he saw in his older brother's eyes the moment he said he would stay overwhelmed him with a sense of being. This person, a brother whom he has never seen let alone interacted with before, wanted this much for them to stay together. He felt a little foolish but he also felt for the first time that he belonged in this house.

Still, there were lots to improve upon. It terrified him to talk to these unknown people and he constantly looked to Roderich for support but he wanted to try so much to be normal like the protagonists of the few novels he was able to peruse. Try as he might, every time he tried to respond, his body seized up cutting his words short before he could say them. He just hoped he didn't make himself into a fool in the process.

Finally, he stepped out into his small modest bedroom, into his personal library study area and headed for the exit. As his hand brushed against the mechanism which unlocked it, he shifted uneasily on the spot. It was a strange experience and a first. Yesterday was the first time he had formally left his room since he could remember, today was the first time he did so alone.

Swallowing hard, he took the first step into the thick, complete darkness of the darkness and shut the door behind him. There was a click and if he stood perfectly still, he could hear the little weights and chains rattle as they returned to their reset position. The next second everything was silent.

It wasn't as scary as he thought, running a hand along the rough texture of the wall. The black was familiar here as they were in his rooms when the lights were turned off as no natural light made its way inside. The passageway though running almost endlessly between the walls was narrow and confined. Many bedtimes he'd spent listening to the dark and he swore he could measure the size of the room with his hearing alone. The space here was of comfortable proportions even though they were foreign to him. Yet he couldn't push away a nagging feeling that this was all too familiar somehow. Regardless, he started his way along the corridor.

A scream was on the tip of his tongue when a beacon of intense light flickered into existence close over head. His erratic breathing slowed and he peeled himself off the opposite wall to inspect the light fixture. It was compact and unlike the old fashioned fuel lamps described to him. Then he remembered Roderich's message about restarting the prototype lighting system in the passageway to save time and effort.

If Matthew remembered correctly...

He walked forward two steps; the bright light followed him, noisily on thin rails. He looked at the contraption with a brief fascination and continued on, making sure not to run ahead of the sensor that kept track of his movements.

It took very little time to reach the correct door, upon closer inspection there was a crudely crafted sign nailed to it. Wobbling print declared the room as 'Serrvants Parler'. Raising his arm, he hesitated a handful of times before knocking quietly on the door. After waiting a full three minutes, he opened the door himself as no one answered and peered inside.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

There was a creak coming from the opposite wall as a fault line in the faded wallpaper split to reveal the hidden passageway's entrance. Matthew stepped over the threshold gingerly. Scenting the cooking breakfast goods in the air, a small smile blossomed on his face but he remained standing in the corner, watching as the others dined.

"Bonjour, Matthieu. Did you sleep well?" Francis said immediately, beckoning him over and patting the empty space beside him on the two-seater.

Weaving through the armchairs and other similar upholstery, the blond nodded and sat at the designated spot leaving a decent gap between the two of them. A plate stacked liberally with fresh pancakes was set in front of him. Thanking Roderich quietly, he upended the pitcher; dollops of viscous syrup spread atop the butter square.

"Like maple syrup, huh?"

Matthew looked up startled for a moment at being addressed. Alfred blinked at his reaction but resumed in his chewing.

"…yes."

The meal passed by in relatively companionable silence with the timid blond's attention focused stubbornly on his plate and nothing else.

When Roderich hung up his apron and made to leave the parlour, Matthew spoke up in a panic.

"R-roderich? Where…?"

The Austrian strode over, placing a firm hand on his charge's shoulder.

"The kitchen needs to be resupplied or else we'll have nothing to eat tonight. I might see to the cleaning problem as well since the maids have all left. With the young master's permission, of course," here he glanced in the direction of Alfred who put down his empty milk glass and gave a dismissive wave of his hand, "I could hardly run the mansion all by my lonesome, I'll see to it that someone capable be hired for the job."

"There should be some money in father's desk drawer. The middle one, I think. It should be sufficient for about a week," Alfred noted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand much to his tutor's disapproval.

"Very well, I shall be leaving then, until later."

The proper door to the parlour closed soundlessly behind him, plunging the room into silence. It saddened Alfred to see his brother attempt to shrink into the furniture. He wracked his brain for something to put him at ease.

"I do believe that we should talk more about-" the English attorney began, refolding his handkerchief, only to be interrupted deliberately by his French associate.

"We should do an activity together! Let's put aside the serious business for later, for this morning at the least. Do your people not say 'all work and no play makes Jacques a dull boy', Arthur?"

"It's Jack," he replied disgruntled. Catching the imploring look in Francis's eyes, his stern look softened in understanding. "Very well. However if we are to do this, all of us must participate. Agreed?"

His gaze flickered over to the fidgeting Matthew and wondered briefly how well this would go. When the twins both conceded to this condition, Francis reached into his elaborately embroidered coat and pulled out a velvet bag from the inner pocket.

"I purchased this at the harbour yesterday. Le vendeur called this game, Lexiko."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

After pushing apart the chairs to make space around the short coffee table under Francis's insistence (one way or another, the Frenchman managed to convince Matthew to help, once again baffling Alfred in how easily and comfortably they interacted), the four of them found themselves immersed in the game.

Lexiko was not at all complicated although possessing a strong vocabulary was definitely an advantage. Briefly pondering his next move, Alfred arranged his cardboard tiles again, selecting a few to add to the growing crossword-like figure. Pushing the tiles into place, he grinned widely announcing,

"Ha! That's…twelve points for me! Mark it down, little bro!"

"Now hold on a minute!" said Arthur. "XYZ is not a word and therefore your move is invalid."

"It so is! It's part of the alphabet. If you can call it ABCs then why can't I do XYZs? This is discrimination!"

"It is not discrimination, nobody calls the alphabet XYZs."

"I do."

"Unfortunately, that is a weak argument. Do you forfeit your turn or not?"

"Never! What do you say, Matt? It is legitimate or not?"

Matthew chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, tapping the dull pencil against the notepad on which they recorded the score. By majority voting, they gave him the job of the scorekeeper to keep him occupied between turns.

"I have to agree with Mr. Kirkland here…sorry," he added the last word abruptly, tensing up when seeing his twin's downcast expression.

"Nah, you don't have to apologize. Just you wait; I'll find the perfect word by next turn." His confident smile seemed to brighten him up a margin.

"Francis, you're up next."

Francis observed the board, stroking his facial hair wisely. He even threw in an intellectual 'hmm' for effect. Afterwards, he appended his pieces to the end of an established word.

"I thought we were to play this in English, Francis. It's hardly fair when we can't judge whether the word is a valid move or not."

"Ah, mais Matthieu, he knows the language and can do the judging, non? I believe this is a perfectly acceptable move. I think you are just jealous that I kept finding all the vowels."

Matthew's face was curiously pink as he read the French word. His brilliant flush deepened as the two French-illiterates stared at his reaction.

"W-well, it certainly is a word…"

"What does it say? What does it say?" Alfred demanded, craning his head to look at it from their angle as though it would help him understand it better. "You're not corrupting my little brother, are you? Because I won't stand for it. And in French, nonetheless."

"Mark that down, will you, Matthieu? There's a good boy."

"Hey, don't ignore me-"

"Oh, sit down! If Matthew doesn't have any protests, neither should you, right, lad?"

Matthew looked conflicted for an answer here, stunned when the Englishman looked to him.

"I…"

"Hey, it's okay, man," Alfred started hastily. His twin was just starting to loosen up; he didn't want all their efforts to go to waste. "But if you're uncomfortable with something or you just want me to beat someone up, don't hesitate to ask me, 'kay? Bro's look out for their bro's."

After a short moment, Matthew answered with a demure "…'kay."

"Alright, alright," Arthur said in a huff, crossing his arms testily. "It's my turn, correct?"

He slid his tiles into place. The moment the R tile was pushed into place, Alfred jumped up and pointed triumphantly.

"Ha! Got you! That's an invalid move. You thought you could trick us all and sneak a few extra points? Think again!"

"What are you blathering about?"

"Everyone knows splendor doesn't have a U in it. Withdraw your move!"

"Now see here, splendour does indeed have a U in it-"

"Oh yeah? Says who?"

"Says the English Lexicon!"

"Well, I've looked through one and splendor does not have a-"

"You and your blasted American spellings! English came from England first!"

"Too bad! We're in New America right now so we play by my rules! And I say no U!"

"U!"

"No U!"

A soft chuckle broke out into a delightful subdued laughter. The two paused in their fevered shouting and pointing contest to find Matthew bent over the notepad in bubbling mirth, joined shortly and heartily by Francis.

There was a strange contagious quality to their laughter that soon all four of them were one way or another laughing as well until they were winded and gasping for breath. That was how Roderich found them when he returned with an armful full of groceries, only able to smile discretely and shaking his head at their antics.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Hey, Francis?"

The French man placed his notebook inside his coat pocket as Alfred sat down heavily next to him.

"Oui, Monsieur Jones?"

"I, well, um, I want your advice," the blond said, his gaze fixed in the direction of his brother who was helping Roderich with preparing lunch.

"Then you have come to the right person, what is the problem?"

"Well, I noticed that you get along with Matthew really well. Like _really_ well. And it's like just about everything I do puts him on the edge, you know? He acts more comfortable with you and I…" he broke off here, unsure of how to finish the sentence. Francis however intuitively picked up the meaning.

"Ce n'est pas difficile. All I have done is considered Matthieu's circumstances and acted accordingly."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about the environment Matthew's been raising, how he was brought up, and his reaction to situations."

Alfred sat back, humming thoughtfully.

"Mmm, well, his rooms are kind of small and cramped. He's probably only talked to Roderich for most of his life. He's extremely shy and unsure of himself. And I guess that's about it."

"Very good. And from that we can deduce?" Francis asked, prompting him to find answers on his own and folding his hands elegantly.

"I don't know. It makes him shy? And, um, not have lots of experience talking to other people?"

"I suppose that's a start," Francis concluded with a sigh. "You say Matthieu lives in cramped quarters, non? Perhaps it makes him uncomfortable with or unused to large open areas. Certainly it would be unfamiliar territory. He interacts mainly with Roderich indicating most of his conversational skills and attitude was formed around what Roderich expects in him since he too is his tutor and a strict and proper one at that. The rooms are most likely quite isolated but given his low profile role in life, he probably has been taught to remain quiet and avoid activities that could lead to potential discovery. Usually fear is a strong factor in instilling this type of behaviour so he may be afraid of being overtly loud or obtrusive even in private settings. He seems to react to sudden noises negatively, supporting the fear of discovery hypothesis. Obviously he has underdeveloped skills in dealing with social settings as he has difficulty responding when prompted to answer on two conflicting situations. As well, he is unused to the speed of informal conversation and tends to spend extra time on choosing his words carefully. This process takes even longer than usual because he does not know what is acceptable to say without offending either you or Arthur. No doubt careful language was ingrained into his speech patterns above all."

Alfred nodded slowly, taking this in. As he considered these observations he looked to Matthew again who nearly jumped a foot in surprise when Arthur tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

"I guess he doesn't like being sneaked up on," he commented drily as he watched the attorney apologize to his brother and gesture towards the cabinet. "Fear of discovery, right?"

"Correct."

"I don't know if I'm cut out for this. I know I'm not good at thinking first before acting and I'm afraid someday I'll offend him to the point that it can't be forgiven," he paused to laugh, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "It's weird, I never really cared about how people saw me before, you know. It was more of a like-me-the-way-I-am-or-don't-like-me-at-all way of life. I mean, I do want Matthew to like me for the way I am but I don't think he can handle me as I am presently. You get me?"

Francis nodded in affirmative, smiling. It was touching to know how the young man was going out of his way to make sure his sibling adjusted to his new life style. He had to admit that when he had first laid eyes on the blond at the front step the other day he would not have expected this from him and thusly felt a bit guilty for being so quick to judge.

"Just take your time, Monsieur Jones. A relationship is a two-way street. Matthieu will have to do as much pulling and pushing as you. It will take time for sure, but I think you can do it. Try to encourage him to make the first move whenever possible, let him control the conversation if need be. I dare say the boy is in serious need of some backbone, non?"

With that said, Alfred rose from his seat to help with setting the fold-out dining table (Roderich was insistent against using the coffee table) after an encouraging clap on the shoulder from Francis.

"Playing counselor already, frog?" Arthur remarked teasingly, taking the seat Alfred vacated and being careful not to touch anything with his flour-covered hands. "And you were the one who forbade serious matters this morning."

"Mon cher, Francis Bonnefoy is always willing to lend a helping hand. Relationships are my specialty, non? I am French after all," he grinned roguishly. "En fait, that might very well place others at an unfair disadvantage, but talent, you agree, must not be wasted."

"Talent? I think the only talent you have is losing any ounce of respect I have for you the moment you gain it."

"You hurt me so, Arthur. It's a miracle how we managed to uphold this working partnership."

"Oh, be quiet, you," he snapped, feeling his temper stirring. His expression softened at the sight of the twins interacting in hesitant courtesy, a strange balancing act of cutlery and ceramics. When Matthew flinched from the sound of the batter-covered meat hitting the frying pan, Alfred reflexively reached out and held the plate his younger brother was holding firmly in place. This action was returned with a grateful word of thanks.

"Better than we had expected?" Francis offered, following the attorney's gaze.

Something Alfred said made Matthew laugh and though brief as it was, there could be seen the beginnings of a proper family.

"I sincerely hope everything turns out well for the lads."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_A/Ns_: Me too, Arthur. Me too. Just a short note, Lexiko is the predecessor of Scrabble which is pretty much Scrabble but without the board. I hope that block of text Francis says makes sense, I tried to use common sense as much as possible to make it remotely logical. Next time, we'll have a little more plot development.

**Thank you for reading! And thanks again to the people who took the time to plump this writer's ego.**


	4. That Which Is Precious

Title: Last Wishes

Authoress: Ankaris123

Disclaimer: APHetalia is property of Hidekaz Himaruya.

_A/Ns_: It has been a while. I won't bother you with my nonsense and excuses, read on.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Chapter 3 – That Which is Precious

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Matthew had very few precious personal items but of those that he did he treasured immensely. Little gifts of lost items found by his tutor composed much of his small collection. Lost battle-scarred marbles, brass brooches with broken pins, the most pretty paper sculpture (origami it was called if he remember correctly) of a pink rose, and a few other objects retrieved from their dusty hiding spots under couches and low tables. There were some that were gifts, such as a homemade shirt from Roderich's lady friend, an embroidered modest kerchief, and others. It made the blond wonder whether his tutor had disclosed his existence to her whoever she was.

Among his treasures, the one which held a special spot in his heart was the thick cotton quilt with which he spent all his nights. It was put together out of necessity, a cold snap rolling over their port city bringing with it the coldest winter for years to come. He had been seven at the time but even today, almost past his teenage years, he recalled vividly the time he and Roderich slaved over it in the warm, dim glow of a single candle in their cramped study room. Every stitch, every prick that drew blood from his clumsy fingers, every carefully directed movement his tutor demonstrated.

Although it was still autumn, the fabric creation embraced his slumbering body gently, accommodating his minute unconscious shift in posture.

It was early morning and Alfred felt overwhelmingly intrusive, standing in his twin brother's room as silent as a statue, blue eyes fixed on the curious whites, grays, and purples of the quilt pattern. His mind scrambled for something to do, anything, but a bedroom as small as this one barely allowed for much standing room let alone any other activity or even a chair.

Admittedly, Alfred had been thoughtless to barge in here without knocking first and now that he was inside, he was afraid that any further movement might arouse his sleeping sibling. Oblivious to his presence, Matthew turned over in his narrow bed, pressing his face into the cool side of the pillow with a satisfied sigh. A few strands of golden hair curled against high cheekbones, close to irritating his close eyelids.

Repressing the urge to reach forward and brush them away, it amazed him the progress they have made in this past week. It was difficult to imagine life without Matthew despite that regretfully being the story for most of his life. The days they had spent together, activities organized courtesy of one Francis Bonnefoy, had been vibrant with laughter and joy, forging a bond Alfred hoped would last forever. Before Matthew came into his life, before when his father was alive, he'd have grudgingly called the mansion his home, now just looking at the wallpaper kindled a ball of warmth in his chest.

"...Alfred...?"

Dimmed reminiscing blue eyes jolted up to meet drowsy violets.

"Good morning, sleepyhead. Or should I say afternoon?" he replied with a grin.

"...what time is it...?" Matthew yawned, groping the side table for his time piece.

"I'd say about two in the afternoon. Roderich's not happy about it but he said he'll let you sleep in this once on account of us going to bed late last night." They had spent the evening stargazing, if you could call it that, out the small, smudged hallway window in the servant's quarters. It didn't matter that Alfred's astrology wasn't up to scratch as Matthew seemed to enjoy Alfred's made-up names and absurdly spun stories for the patterns in the sky from his endless bubbling laughter.

Pushing back the thick quilt, the smaller blond put on his spectacles and fumbled for his shoes which had found their way under the bed. Alfred backed out of the tiny space and waited patiently for Matthew to dress, amusing himself with the odd green glow of his portable lamp. It still bothered him that his younger brother's living quarters were suffocating in darkness from its lack of windows. It almost bothered him as much as Matthew's stubborn objection against moving to a guest room upstairs.

One step at a time, he supposed.

"What has Francis arranged for us to do today?" Sounds of gushing water almost overwhelming the softly spoken words.

"Actually, Francis and Arthur's gone out today to the post office and won't be back until later tonight. Roderich's gone out too. We're out of groceries again and since we're running a bit low on money, he's going to stop at the bank to see if they will clear a cheque signed by me."

A faucet snapped shut and then came the reply:

"Oh."

A moment of painful silence ensued.

"Um, but I sort of have something planned. If you want to, I mean. Unless you'd rather, you know, do something else."

The oak door swung open with a soft click. Raising his downward cast gaze, Matthew managed a reassuring smile, one hand still toying with the brass doorknob.

"I would like that."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The closer they neared their destination the more stupid Alfred felt. He didn't let this fact known to his twin who was trailing meekly behind him through the narrow servant's halls. Finally, they stepped out into a wider corridor carpeted with a long threadbare carpet that might once have been a shade of red. Golden afternoon rays illuminated the faded wallpaper and closed doors through the window they sat in front of the previous night.

A strange misshapen contraption sat on the tiny hall table under the dusty sill.

As they approached, details came in focus but did not make it any more obvious to what it was supposed to be. Metal pipes jutted out of the complicated object, something that resembled a small tin robot made up the centre, and gave off a feeling that it might fall apart from a sneeze in its general direction.

"What is it?" Matthew inquired with genuine curiosity. A pale hand reached forward to touch it then withdrew, thinking better of it.

"It's a robot-music-box-pipe-thing-machine," Alfred explained, his cheeks burning red. "I made it when I was ten out of a-, well, exactly what the name says. Anyways…"

Probing the strange machine for the switch buried in a mess of decorative springs on the back.

"I think it should have enough power now…"

A sharp click and a stream of soap bubbles shot into the air, bursting against its creator's nose and mouth. Sputtering at the taste, Alfred stepped back as the lilting tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star began, mid-verse. Rusty gears turned one way and then another, whether for some function or for pure aesthetics, no one knew. Tiny incandescent lights (one burnt out) flickered uncertainly inside the large round robot eyes as though confused on why a mass of unnecessary metal parts were soldered onto its body.

Sitting down with his legs crossed, Alfred gently adjusted the pipes, freeing one of the robot's arms which began to spin in jerky quarter-turns. There was some shuffling to his left, indicating that Matthew was joining him on the floor.

"I wanted to be an inventor when I was little after touring all the local laboratories. It was the first time anything caught my interest so strongly. For a little while anyways. I wasn't very good at it, as you can see," he added, finding the whole affair sillier by the second. When he had dug it out of the ancient toy chest in the corner of his room, his first instinct was to show it to his brother, to share the excitement of rediscovering old memories.

He had forgotten that they didn't have memories together that were old enough to be rediscovered. Just the thought of that sat heavily in his empty stomach. Their own father had denied them the chance to create such experiences. Perhaps it was a far too corny sentiment (reserved usually for the elder middle-aged) but it was regretful that they could not say simple things like "Remember that time when we were twelve? Good times." To Matthew, it was probably nothing more than a child's attempt at science, cute but useless and generally a waste of material and space.

"I think it's brilliant." Warm violet eyes twinkled with acute fascination, fixated on the irregular bursts of rainbow bubbles. "How does it work?"

The honest words transformed the searing embarrassment into glowing pride.

"It runs on sunlight. Absorbs it and stores it in a little battery-like thing. That's why I put it here for a while first so it could warm up. I'm amazed that it still works after so long actually. You see, I wanted to make a giant robot at first but Roderich made me to start with something small. So I tried to make a little robot but I couldn't get it to walk properly and after a while I gave up and then I found this music box in one of the other rooms and took it apart, except then I couldn't remember how to put it back together and I got to thinking, hey, I have a ton of bits and bobs, why not just put them all together? So I convinced Roderich to nick me a bit of…"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"What do you mean you can't do it?"

Several other patrons of the post office turned to stare unabashed at the source of the commotion. Flowing blond hair swaying gracefully with every shake of his head, Francis moved forward to stop his companion before the situation complicated itself enough to involve the authorities.

The tense shoulder under his hand twitched at his touch. At least he was no longer pounding the wooden counter so hard it shook from impact. The hand not curled into a white-knuckled fist was gripping a leather wallet.

"I-I'm sorry, sir, but I cannot accept your telegram," the terrified employee stuttered, eyes focussed on the rather distinguished pair of heavy-set eyebrows before her.

"And why, pray tell, _not_?" He had stood in the queue for hours in the blazing sunlight with only Francis and Madam-I-know-more-about-what's-good-for-you-than-your-mother-even-if-we're-perfect-strangers for company and he was not going to be denied after all the harassment he suffered to get to this counter. Arthur let out a low unyielding growl as he was gently but firmly pulled aside. The stern disapproving look he received was answered with one of his own.

"May I ask, miss, why you are refusing us customers services that are as stated on the door open to everyone?" The velvet tone of his voice and the proximity of his handsome face as he leaned over the blank forms prompted her to subconsciously reach up and smooth down her hair. "I can see this isn't a matter of money. Perhaps you've received specific orders keeping us from sending this telegram?"

"Who?" Arthur interjected sharply the moment she averted her eyes to avoid answering.

"I-I'm sorry, sirs, b-but I cannot accept your telegram…"

With a sigh, the Frenchman retrieved the note for transcribing and beckoned for his partner to follow him out.

"We should have known."

"What?" The amassed irritation evidently had not sufficiently dissipated. Following the path as directed by the pointing finger, his green eyed gaze settled on the signboard. Though not prominent, the 'Jones' curved into the wood was noticeable amongst the other family names that contributed to its opening.

"Ça m'étonne…" Francis tapped his bottom lip in a moment of mental calculation. "They've taken over quicker than I would have thought."

"This is not a time to be amazed, frog. I knew we should have done this earlier. All those days sidetracked by your little bonding activities while those money-grubbing lawyers were working to cut off our connections with Europe-"

"Now, now. That's no way to talk. Rehabilitating Matthieu is just as important as sorting out the legalities, if not more. Don't tell me you dislike the sweet boy."

"Of course not. He's a very nice lad, but-"

"-and this is just one minor setback to achieving our goal. They may play dirty to get what they want but they do not control everything," Francis said firmly, nudging the disgruntled attorney with his elbow good-naturedly. "Come, let us head back."

"I have a feeling this isn't going to end easily." He received a curious look and a chuckle in response.

"Since when has it ever?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"…so I said to him, I said-, wait, did you hear something just now?" Alfred pressed a finger to his lips, straining his ears to pick up on the source of the noise he just heard. It couldn't be the robot since it had run out of power an hour ago after the sun shifted and cast the shadow of the large cedar outside into the hall. A few seconds later, Matthew's laughter subsided when he realized this wasn't part of the story.

"Perhaps you should try looking behind you." The two of them scrambled to their feet and turned to face the unfamiliar woman. Even in anger she was very pretty although the iron frying pan gripped in the slender fingers was no doubt alarming.

"Wh-"

"You have some nerve, you know," she said, jabbing a finger harshly into Matthew's shoulder. The startled teen shrunk away with every sharp prod. "He was going to propose to me and then you had to go and call him back. Couldn't you have waited an hour or two? I waited years for him to come back and-"

Before she could get any further, Alfred stepped forward, thrusting a protective arm between her and his brother.

"Stop that, you're scaring him! If you have a problem with something, talk to me. But first of all, who the hell are you? What are you doing in my-, _our_ house?"

Pulling back, she rose to full height with an air of utter defiance and mild contempt. "Ah, then _you_ must Alfred then."

"Aren't you going to answer my question?"

"I don't have to take that language, young man," her gaze softened, catching sight of the shell-shocked blond behind Alfred. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, dear. My name is Elizabeta, what's yours?"

"Hey, don't ignore me!"

Snapping out of his anxiety-induced stupor, Matthew peered up meekly, shifting to hide more of his body behind his twin. He answered barely audible, eyes fixed on his shoes.

"Matthew…" A warm motherly smile blossomed on her face, a hint of recognition in her expression.

"Oh! You must be the boy my Roderich spoke of; you're taller than I would have thought. I'm Roderich's Eliza," she added in hopes that it would help stimulate his memory.

"…the one who made the shirt and the handkerchief?" Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, the embroidered kerchief was retrieved, wrinkled and creased but clean.

"Yes, the very one. I hope you like them."

"Y-yes, I like them very much," he replied hastily, still unable to meet her eyes. "Um, thank you very much, Miss Elizabeta."

"Elizabeta is fine, dear."

"Hello? Can someone explain what's going on before my head explodes? Figuratively speaking," he appended the last bit when Matthew looked towards him with panicked concern. The once-recluse may be well-versed in metaphors and other literary devices half of which his twin brother couldn't even define but the ones Alfred and most common people used in casual speech were a _touch_ less flowery and astonishingly crude.

"And you," Elizabeta said, her displeasure resurfacing in an instant. "I have a bone to pick with you, _Mister_ Jones."

"What did I ever do to you?"

"For one, you called Roderich home early when he promised to stay for at least another two weeks, my word, the audacity of you rich folks these days, I'd never-"

"It's not like I asked my father to go off and get drowned to death at sea!"

An uncomfortable silence settled into the narrow hallway which steadily grew dim as late afternoon faded into evening.

"I'm sorry for your loss then-"

"Don't need any of that. Matt and I are better off without him in my opinion," he said tersely, waving it off. "More importantly, how did you get in here? You said you know Roderich-?"

"Eliza!" the interjection rang through the air, chiding but with a soft tender edge, followed by quick footsteps of heavy soled oxfords on threadbare carpets. "I thought I told you to wait at the servants' entrance-, oh, young masters, I apologize for the disturbance. She…she has not done anything…regrettable, has she?"

This Roderich said reproachfully as he spared a sharp glance at the tarnished cooking utensil in his would-be fiancée's grip.

"Nah, but she did freak Matthew out," said Alfred with undisguised disdain for the strange out-spoken female. "What's her business here anyways?"

"I brought her in to do the housework seeing as the maids have left us. I have mentioned this before, of course."

Tucking the frying pan under her left arm, she dipped into an elegant curtsey. The challenging twinkle in her deep green eyes however was highly noticeable as was the teasing angle to her smile.

"Pleased to work for you, _Mister_ Jones."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I would like to apologize about Elizabeta, young master."

"It's fine. If you think she's the right person for the job, I trust in your judgment."

"I do not know the whole story, however I know part of why her behaviour is…somewhat brash," Roderich began uneasily. He hesitated until Alfred nodded his head, prompting him to continue. "During my absence, our home town in the north was savaged by bandits. I'm sure you have heard about it."

Several years ago, the Upper North Territories suffered under bandit invasion after an unprecedented alliance among prominent groups of travelling bandit in the area where law was not as strictly enforced. The situation had quickly worsened, spurring major cities in the lower West to collaborate in dispatching police officers, mainly former soldiers, to assist their local militia. You didn't need to know how to read to know what was going down, paperboys were hollering about it on every curb while elsewhere folks milled around gossiping loudly about the happenings. It was easily the biggest news story of the decade.

"Law and order ultimately fell to the hands of the common people, those who weren't afraid to strain themselves, to lay their lives down and protect their township. The few wealthy families who resided in the north thusly grew out of favour. From then on, the militia became the source of power and authority, and in the eyes of the people, far more worthy of it. Elizabeta lived through this and, needless to say, she does not have a particular high opinion of nobility and the rich. Please understand this is a bias, an assumption she constructed from her current knowledge. She is a good person at heart and recognizes good qualities in others regardless of their income and heritage."

The firm look in his former tutor's eyes was enough to convince him. At the very least, the New American should give her a chance. The fact still remained that the mansion needed someone with expertise to tend to its dusty state and could cook a hearty meal or two without burning a third of the dishes. Besides, she did apologize to Matthew straight away after realizing her mistake. Alfred had almost snapped right then seeing her intimidating his younger brother almost to the point of terrified tears.

Snapping out of his revelry he gave Roderich a reassuring grin, clapping his shoulder in a friendly manner.

"I trust you, Roderich. You've done a lot for us already, and if you say you want her here, I wouldn't care even if she's a stuck up disciplinarian, okay, maybe I would a bit, but like I said I trust you on this. Anyways, we should go inside already. I bet everyone is starving waiting for us."

Cracking open the door to the servants' parlour, four heads turned towards the sound of their arrival.

"About time you two joined us, we were getting sick of waiting," grumbled Arthur, arms crossed over his chest, before adding, "not that we were waiting."

"Come, sit down! The food is getting cold and that would be a great disrespect to cette demoiselle-ci who prepared it for us all. Come, come!" Behind Francis's jovial visage, Elizabeta's smile looked a little strained. Even the Englishman's expression was flat. Although timidly, the barely noticeable wave from Matthew on the other side of the table put Alfred at ease.

"Well, don't let us keep you, dig in!" Mismatching dining table chair legs scuffed the carpet as they took their places. It had taken some getting used to after all the cushy ones he grew up sitting on.

"Manners, young master."

"I've been like this for years, Roderich. I'm not about to change, that's for sure."

"Sometimes, I worry whether that's a virtue or not."

Supper passed in relatively high spirits right up until the clinking of ceramics as Elizabeta and Roderich cleared the table. Daubing his mouth with the corner of his kerchief, Arthur glanced to his French partner for confirmation and cleared his throat.

"We, that is, Francis and I have something to say."

There was an exchange of looks across the table, most of them concerned to some degree.

"We regretfully must leave you for Europe as soon as possible. It seems our attorney friends down Main street have cut us off from the telegram system. It is unfortunate that it has come to this but there is no other way, the post will take far too long and there exists a possibility of sabotage. Of course, they cannot prevent us from leaving the continent through legal means. Arthur and I will retrieve the relevant documents related to this case and come back tout de suite."

"This…really cannot wait?" Matthew's voice was tiny and morose. His blond hair hung over his downward turned face. Having grown used to their presence, to hear that they must leave was disheartening.

"I'm sorry, lad. But time is of the essence. In order to restore your standing and your family's belongings back to their proper owners, legal matters must be processed before the Jones' solicitors snatch everything from under your noses. There may also be a need in the near future for Alfred to travel to Britain in regards to your father's overseas business. But all in due time."

"We understand, do you require travelling funds?"

"That would not be necessary, thank you all the same."

"When…when are you leaving?"

Francis seemed to deflate a little, a touch of reluctance in his expression seeing Matthew withdrawing into himself, unable to meet their eyes. Reaching over, the English attorney gave the boy a kindly pat on the forearm that only surprised him for a moment.

"I'm afraid we have to leave tonight, the sooner the better."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Safe journey to the both of you."

"Thank you, Roderich. We'll come back as soon as possible."

"We will be waiting," the Austrian tutor said, peering down the vast hall for any sign of his ward. "Where is the young master? How could he skip out on seeing our guests off?" He tapped his foot impatiently at this development. Elizabeta was down in the kitchens, dealing with the aftermaths of their meal.

"It's fine. Let's get going, frog. And stop making that face, you were the one who booked the flight for this evening."

"Je suppose…," he sighed for the umpteenth time, running his fingers through the tangles in his blonde hair caused by the infrequent gusts of wind. "Please send the boys my farewells and au revoir."

As they turned to descend the stairs to the courtyard, a commotion stirred inside the mansion.

"W-wait!"

Shivering from the unfamiliar feel of the fresh evening breeze that seemed to crawl over his exposed skin, Matthew skirted towards the open door, grateful for darkness that obscured his vision. All the same, he kept his vision cast downwards and unfocussed, trying not to see more than he could handle. If he squinted, he could barely make out the faint outlines of the two men at the foot of the stone steps.

"Please be safe and return soon."

Smiling, they waved back up at him.

"But of course. Take care of yourself, lad." With that they continued across the gravel driveway and through the slightly ajar steel gate.

Startled by the hand on his shoulder, he flinched but allowed himself to be lead back further into the hallway, away from the looming presence of the outdoors. Alfred grinned at him and gave him a hearty pat on the back as Roderich swung the front door shut.

"See, you did it, didn't you? It wasn't so hard after all. I'm proud of you, bro."

Though still unnerved by the vastness of the outside world he barely glimpsed, Matthew felt a sense of achievement and terrified fascination. It wasn't an issue he could tackle very soon, but he would like to go outside someday.

"It was the least I could do."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_A/Ns_: Yay! And so the plot progresses a little (wait, this story has a plot?). I'm kind of wordy, am I not? Ah, well. I'm planning to expand a bit on Elizabeta's backstory in the future so if she sounds kind of unnecessarily rude at the moment, I hope it isn't distracting. Also, I haven't written those two (Eliza and Rod) very often (or at all, haha) so I'm still working on how to properly characterize them. If they seem out of character, I'm sorry. In the next few chapters, more characters will appear (whether as recurrent or not, we'll have to see). I can't remember what little French I used in this chapter but I tried to keep it simple and within context so it should be understandable regardless. If not, please go ahead and ask me what they mean (or google, haha).

**Thank you for reading! If you have any questions, complaints, or simply want to share your thoughts, don't hesitate to drop a review!**


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